


30 Day OTP Challenge- Sherlock and Abigail Hudson

by whispersofafangirl



Series: Sherlock and Abby [3]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Cosplay, Cuddling, Deerstalker, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Ice Cream, Injury, Jealousy, Kissing, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 15,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispersofafangirl/pseuds/whispersofafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 Day OTP Challenge</p><p>This will take place in between the fics "The Case of the Cellist in 221C" and "The Case of the Lover's Serenade". If I do any flashbacks, I will notate it. This is purely to help me start writing on a daily basis and contains no real plot- only snippets of Sherlock and Abigail's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

Abigail wasn’t accustomed to failing at auditions First, she got lost on the way there making her fifteen minutes late. Impatiently, the judges sat and waited as she tuned her cello. As she reached the A string, it snapped with a loud thump.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she tried to find her backup string in her cello case. After fumbling for what felt like several minutes, she realized that there was no backup string to be found. The three other strings were in there but not the A string.

Defeated, she made her way back to Baker Street in the pouring, cold rain. By the time she walked upstairs to the flat, her coat had been soaked through, rendering her a shivering, emotional mess.

Sherlock watched as she peeled off her wet coat and hat. She left them on the floor, too tired and too defeated to even care. The cello case was left by the door too. Abigail walked to the bedroom to remove all of her wet clothing and to contemplate getting into bed and never leaving it.

Sherlock stood at the doorway of the bedroom. Neither one said anything. She took off her pants which were wet to the knees from the puddles splashing up as cars drove by and then her shirt. Standing there only in her panties and bra, she finally turned to look at him. The defeat and sadness was dark in her eyes. He didn’t need to deduce anything. He just knew.

His long legs easily made it across his little bedroom to her with only a few strides. The instinct to comfort was there within him because of Abigail. The desire to physically comfort another human being was strong when it came to Abigail. He simply reached out and took her hand and held her cold, wet hand in his and then cupped it with his other one.

Abigail’s big brown eyes looked up at his bright azure eyes. “Next time will be better, right?” she said, knowing he needed no explanation.

“Obviously,” he said, just above a whisper.

She put her other hand on top of his. The warm, gentle feel of his hands made her feel better and she wondered for a fleeting moment if she ever did the same for him.

 


	2. Day Two: Cuddling Somewhere

Day Two: Cuddling Somewhere

 

The Cure For Boredom

 

 

 

Sherlock Holmes is not an easy man to live with. Abigail knew this from the start but after a few weeks of being in the same flat together, she had a more realistic picture of what life with the mercurial detective was like.

 

Fighting and bickering could easily take over. There were several times, she even felt like throttling him while he was pacing manically around the flat out of boredom with his pouty voice complaining about the lack of crime and how he needed a case. What Abigail needed was for him to shut up.

 

After one of her performances, she came home to find him curled up on his chair, watching telly. He was clutching his knees, sitting much like a child would, and was obviously still pissy about the relative calm in the criminal world. "Well, I can tell you're still in a mood," she commented as she wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

 

He grumbled a response. Abigail glanced over at him and thought he looked cute all curled up; his curly hair was a fluffy mess and his clothes disheveled. Sherlock caught her staring. "What?" he asked.

 

"You're cute," Abigail said as she walked over to him.

 

Sherlock didn't have a comeback. He mumbled a little as she walked up to him and messed with his hair.

 

"I can tell you've been playing with your hair all evening," she said, letting her fingers play with the wild curls. "It's a mess. A lovely, soft, curly mess." Sherlock moaned. "Yes, I know you enjoy that," she whispered as she continued to comb her fingers gently through his hair.

 

She looked down and noticed his eyes were closed and he looked more calm than he had been all week. "Hmmmm," she said, filing away this little snippet of information in her head.

 

Sherlock finally put his feet down on the floor which prompted Abigail to sit down on his lap.

Her lips kissed his neck as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Abby," he murmured, his racing mind distracted for the first time in a day.

 

"You know," she started to say as she held onto him closely, "I think I've discovered a remedy for boredom and as a bonus, it doesn't involve corpses."

  
He leaned up to kiss her and whispered, "Yes, I believe you have."


	3. Watching a Movie

My Heart Will Go On

It became a tradition that when Sherlock and John were away on a case, Mary and Abigail would get together for a girl’s night. Sometimes, it was dinner and a movie. Other times, it was manicures and pedicures. 

It was a dreadfully cold morning in late November and Sherlock had been gone for four days on a case. Abigail woke up to a text from Mary. 

(08:20) The boys are still away. How about takeaway tonight? Titanic will be on the telly. We can drool over the costumes and Leo.

So plans were made. Mrs. Hudson joined them and the three ladies watched Titanic while they had some pizza. The ladies chatted while the movie played and occasionally commented on how lovely Kate was and the costumes she wore. 

Sherlock and John showed up midway through the movie. Sherlock looked at the group of them, fawning over Leo and grumbled. Abigail giggled at him which just made him sulk even more. 

“Darling, do you think we could go home?” John asked Mary towards the end. “I do hate to interrupt girl’s night but I haven’t seen you in a week.”

That was Mrs. Hudson’s cue to leave as well. Abigail and Sherlock were alone. 

“Come here,” she said. “Come have a cuddle. I’ve missed you.”

“We are not watching that monstrosity of a movie,” Sherlock announced as he sat down next to Abigail. She reached over to hold his hand. 

“Oh come on,” she said. “Just let me finish it. It’s almost over.”

Sherlock grumbled but felt her squeeze his hand tighter. The music in the movie had become sad so he knew that soon enough, Abigail would be crying. “Do not cry, Abigail,” he warned. 

“Shhh.”

_“I’m so cold,” Rose said._

“Because you just hit an iceberg and the water is zero degree celsius,” Sherlock grumbled. 

“Sherlock.. shutup.”

_“You’re going to get out of this…you’re going to go on and you’re going to make babies and watch them grow and you’re going to die an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Do you understand me?”Jack said._

_“I can’t feel my body,” Rose replied._

“Hypothermia… it’s very unrealistic that she’s made it this long. She should be dead by now,” Sherlock whispered. 

Abigail’s eyes are teary and she looks over at Sherlock. “If you want to sleep in the same room tonight, I suggest you shut up.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but maintains silence for the duration of the movie. Abigail turns it off as soon as Rose is saved and gives her name as “Rose Dawson”. 

“Gets me every time,” she said as big tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

Sherlock tilted his head as he looked at her. “I do not understand why you cry at such silly things. It’s almost as if you like watching sad movies.”

Abigail laughed and wiped her cheeks off. “It is more about it being romantic than sad.”

Sherlock only had one word to say about that, “Boring.”


	4. That Time Sherlock Did Something Romantic Without Realizing It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4- On a date

(18:45) Take a cab to Riverside Building, Westminster Bridge Road. Meet me there by 8pm. Urgent. -S

Abigail looked at the text message and rolled her eyes. Urgent could mean he’s kidnapped or a new pen. Urgent was a word that meant different things to Sherlock than to most people.

(18:46) Fine. Will be there.

Still relatively new to London, Abigail didn’t really know where she was going. The roads still confused her and her sense of direction was poor. This irritated Sherlock to no end so she tried not to even ask him because there would be a lecture about her lack of paying attention.

Abigail was surprised when she ended up in front of the London Eye. She had asked Sherlock to take her months ago but he had refused. She walked around looking for him and finally found him standing by the entrance, bundled up in his coat with the collar flipped up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked, looking around because she thought he was trying to be incognito.

“Good, you’re here,” he said as he took her hand and started to lead her into the line.

“Wait… are you actually going to take me on here?” Abigail said, trying not to let her hopes get too high.

“Why else would we be in line?” Sherlock said, avoiding her hopeful gaze and ridiculously large smile, but he could plainly hear how surprised she was.

They didn’t wait in line. Abigail didn’t know at the time but Sherlock had just solved a small case for the operator and had bartered for a flight with Abigail. Dates with Sherlock usually meant a convenient way of solving a case and it only took Abigail a few experiences to realize that those were the only sorts of dates she would be going on.

She was skeptical but happy as they boarded and were alone in the capsule. “Ok, what’s the case?” she asked as she started to look around as the capsule started to move. She walked over to the very far corner and watched as the view of the Thames and Big Ben became more prominent.

“There is no case,” Sherlock stated as he walked over to her.

“But there is always a case,” Abigail replied, still entranced by the beautiful city lights. “Always.”

“No, not tonight. This was my payment for a case, if that matters,” he said. He stood next to her now and put his hand on her shoulder.

She turned her head and looked up at him. “You did this for me?”

“Nice deduction,” he remarked sarcastically but with a smile.

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice full of excitement. “You wonderful man.”

Abigail turned and grabbed him, hugging him so hard he wobbled back a little before straightening up and holding her tightly. “Oh… thank you,” she murmured against his neck as she kissed it. “Thank you so much, Sherlock.”

Sherlock kissed her forehead and then claimed her lips with his own. “You’re welcome,” he said as he pulled away. “Now pay attention because I’m going to teach you the layout of London and how you can learn how to navigate better and more efficiently.”


	5. Day 5- Kissing

Wasted Time

 

Day 5 Kissing

 

“Do you ever think about what if we had worked things out,” Abigail started to say but stopped abruptly. 

Sherlock turned to look at her in bed, rolling onto his side. It was dark but they both could see the faint outline of each other’s face. 

“Go on,” Sherlock whispered. 

“If maybe you had explained from day one... or at least told me sooner,” Abigail said, her voice getting shakier with each word. “Before the trial at the very least... would I have come to London with you? Would you have asked me? And then we wouldn’t have wasted ten years.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, even he recognized the bravery it took for her to bring it up. He didn’t know how to answer it though. “I don’t know,” he said, saying the three word phrase he hated the most. “We were young. You were still in university. I wouldn’t have wanted to interfere with that. I would have wanted you to succeed professionally.”

Abigail smiled. “I know.. I was just thinking about what could have been.”

“Why? It cannot be changed and nothing good comes from that line of thinking. It’s a stupid thing people do.”

Ever the practical one, Sherlock knew how to ground her and even though his words would have sounded harsh to many people, Abigail knew he said it out of love. “I know but I guess with everything that had happened, I feel like the past ten years have been a disaster for me. Like so much wasted time and the drinking, it’s difficult to accept. Just makes me sad.”  
Sherlock reached to her and found her hand that was buried under the covers. His fingers easily wrapped around it and he squeezed it gently. “Abby, it’s not wasted time. You’re here now and that is all that really matter, yes?”

“Yeah,” she said, the word squeaking with emotion. 

He didn’t have to see her face to know that she was on the verge of tears. He detested when she cried because it would make him doubt whether he was right for her. “No crying, Abby,” he said. “I hate when you do.”

“Sometimes, it makes me feel better though,” she confessed. She squeezed his hand while taking a deep breath so she could try to hold back the tears. 

“There are many other things that would make you feel better and perhaps make you worry less,” he said. 

“Like?”

Sherlock released her hand and brought it up to her cheek. He was proud of the fact that there were no tears there when he touched it. “Like, kissing me,” he whispered before he leaned in and with an incredible gentleness, brushed his lips against hers. 

A sigh of relief escaped from her mouth as they kissed. His full lips seemed to engulf hers, nibbling and pulling at them. They both moaned with pleasure, the sound vibrating their mouths.The kiss was one of comfort and reassurance. 

“Abby,” Sherlock said as he released her lips. “Do you not feel like those years are meaningless now? Can you not feel how when we kiss like that, that it is like the first time we kissed all over again?”

Abigail smiled in the darkness, on the verge of tears again but because of his tenderness this time. “Yes,” she managed to squeak out. 

Sherlock shook his head. “On the verge of crying again? Why?”

“Happiness. Now shut up and kiss me like that again,” she said as her fingertips caressed his cheek bone.


	6. Day 6- Wearing Each Other's Clothes

The first time Sherlock left for a case out of the country, Abigail found herself alone in his flat for a few days. The desire to snoop around was pretty intense for the first day, but she knew that anything that was touched and not put back exactly right, he would notice it immediately. 

She made it until late evening of day two. Bored, she walked around and inspected the bookcases for something to read. She missed his company- even his chaotic mood swings. 221B was quiet place without him. She walked around the room, peeking through the books, finding little ledger notes and corrections in some obscure text books. His handwriting was rushed in all of them, like he couldn’t get the ideas quick enough out on the little pieces of paper or the margins.

That is when she discovered the deerstalker. The infamous deerstalker. The hat he hated but had come to, in a small way, symbolize the detective. Abigail had seen the picture on John’s blog. The annoyed detective, looking like a child about to have a tantrum over a lolly, wearing the hat. 

She lifted it up and did what most people do when they miss their loves- inhale the scent of it. The mixture of wool and Sherlock’s hair washed over her. Oh dear, she said out loud with a big grin. She smelled it again and then proceeded to put it on. She laughed as she looked in the mirror and saw the hat on top of her head. It looked ridiculous but it was his. She adjusted her hair until it sat properly on her head.

A thought crossed her mind which made her race into the bedroom. A shirt. Yes, she needed a shirt but not just any one. The shirt. The shirt that would make her mouth drop every time he wore it. The purple shirt. 

She quickly found it in the small pile of dry cleaning and pulled it out.She held it out in front of her and sniffed the glorious air. “Abigail, you are ridiculous,” she said in the empty room. “What are you, 15 years old?”

Despite the fact she thought what she was doing was ridiculous, she stripped down (still in the hat) and put the shirt on. She couldn’t button it though- her breasts were just too big to fit under a shirt that barely fit Sherlock himself. 

“Dammit,” she muttered as she stood in front of the mirror. An internal debate started as to whether she should take a ‘sexy’ pic for him and text it to him. A vision of John being handed the mobile to see “what she wants now” went through her head. “Yeah, no pic for you, Mr. Holmes,” she said. 

“What do you mean? No picture for me?” Sherlock leaned against the doorway and smirked at her. 

“OH MY GOD, warn me!” Abigail yelled, jumping at the sound of his voice. 

She pulled the shirt tight across herself, mortified that she had been caught by him. Sherlock shook his head as he walked up to her. 

“Let’s see,” he said as he peeled her hands off of the shirt. “No, I’m sorry, Abigail. Your breasts cannot be contained in such a shirt. Thankfully, you are more endowed than I am in this department.”

Abigail had forgotten about the hat until he glanced at her head. “Oh now, look at this. The death frisbee,” he said. “Nice touch. I have to admit that it looks much better on you than it does me.”  
Her cheeks were so red with embarrassment that she was almost on the verge of tears. Sherlock saw this and ran his fingertip across her neck. “Miss me, silly girl?” he asked, his voice playful and sweet. 

She looked up at him and smiled, “Yes. I’m sorry about....”

Before she could finish, he pulled her into his arms and planted a big kiss on her lips. Sherlock easily lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him as he walked towards the bed. “Just one thing, Abby,” he said as he peeled off the shirt from her. “Leave the hat on.”


	7. Day 7- Cosplaying

_Note: College AU- Abigail is spending a year attending university in England. Sherlock is an upperclassman and Abigail is only on her second year. Both are assigned to help at the annual Renaissance fair that raises money for the Arts Department. Their assignment to play Romeo and Juliet as they interact with the public. Unbeta'ed_

 

**Romeo & Juliet**

_(Abigail’s POV)_

When I found out the university would hold a Renaissance Faire to support the Arts Department, I volunteered because I genuinely thought it would be a fun experience. I’d get to meet some more people and walk around, dressed up all day like a princess. I was still new in England and trying my best to fit in (even though most of the time, I stuck out like a sore thumb). 

The professor in charge decided to cast me as Juliet. I was overjoyed. The original Romeo was a sweetheart, a young Scottish man that was so polite and nice to me. Then one day, the professor took me aside and said, “My apologies for this, Abigail. Alistair had a bit of an accident on the rugby field and there is no one else available ... Sherlock? Please come here and meet your Juliet.”

I couldn’t understand why he seemed so apologetic about Sherlock until I had to rehearse with him. So, I went from a dashing prince to a man who I can only describe as an unwilling participant.

For two weeks, Sherlock and I tried to rehearse. He complained that I didn’t know my lines perfectly or when I paused at the improper moment. Of course, my accent wasn’t right either because who had ever heard of an American Juliet? Twice, he walked out on rehearsal, angry and annoyed. 

The day of the faire, I was determined not to let that bratty man ruin my day. I reported to the costume department and watched as they transformed me from plain, old Abigail to beautiful Juliet. I almost cried as I looked in the mirror. There weren’t many days in my life that I had felt that beautiful. 

I found Sherlock in costume, waiting for me. “You look nice,” I said. He barely lifted eyes to me which hurt because I wanted him to think I was looking the part as well. I don’t know why I thought he would care. 

“Did you memorize all the words?” he demanded, still not looking at me. 

“Yes, I think so,” I replied. “Will you perhaps be in a better mood? Kinda difficult to act like I’m in love with someone who seems to think I am the worst Juliet to ever grace the earth.”

Sherlock finally looked at me and his face softened just a little bit, “I am sorry for what I said the other day. I am rather frustrated with the Professor for even assigning me this part. He was seeking revenge on me because I outed him for sleeping with a senior teacher assistant.”

God, he is so handsome, I thought. I didn’t realize how much I was staring until he said something.

“Abigail?” he asked. “What are you doing besides staring at me?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled and turned away. “I suppose we should head in.”

Despite my irritable and grumpy Romeo, I was determined to have fun that day.The grounds were decorated beautifully and little food stalls dotted the campus. Jousting was going to take place in the afternoon and some other exhibitions were planned. I had never seen anything so lovely. 

For the first hour, we strolled along, mingling with the guests and taking pictures with them. The little girls seemed most interested in us. They would coo over my dress and hair and then look at Sherlock. “Why is Romeo sad?” one little redhead girl asked. “Shouldn’t he be holding your hand?”

“He’s not sad. He’s just watching for my family. If they saw us together, they would kill him,” I whispered. “So, you must keep this a secret.”

Sherlock looked down at me as I crouched by the little girl. I may have seen the beginnings of a smile but I wasn’t sure. 

“Do you love Juliet?” the little girl asked. 

I shot him a warning look which made him rethink whatever smart answer he was about to respond with. I stood up and gave him room as he talked to the little girl. He crouched down next to her and began to recite a few lines from Act One, Scene Five. 

“And, touching hers, my rough hands will be blessed.

Has my heart loved till now? Renounce past sight!

I’ve never seen true beauty till this night.”

We had practiced those lines before but I thought that my heart may have stopped for a moment. His tender, low voice that could make me weak in the knees. 

“Juliet,” he said as he stood up and walked towards me. “Might you allow these rough hands take yours and hold them in love?”

I inhaled sharply. “Yes, forever yes,” was the only thing I could manage to say. 

He reached and took my hand, lifting it slowly to his lips and kissed it ever so gently. Oh that perfect cupid’s bow and how it sent tingles through me. The little girl started to clap, pulling me out of my mind. I curtsied to her while Sherlock bowed. 

After that, the day went well. He never broke character and I tried not to but it wasn’t easy. That arrogant ass had turned into a charming, sweet prince. I didn’t understand it at all but I wouldn’t question it. He had even willingly kissed me twice and often held my hand as we strolled through the crowds. 

Of course, the day ended too quickly. My little fairy tale was ending and  reluctantly, I followed him back to the costume department to get changed. I was plain, old Abigail again. 

I didn’t expect him to be waiting for me but he was. I walked by him and said goodnight but he started to follow me and then stop me in the corridor. “Abby, I’m sorry if I had acted badly these past two weeks,” he said. “Being social is not a strong point of mine but I wanted you to know that it wasn’t you. It was me. Will you forgive me?”

I don’t  like anyone calling me Abby. “Please call me Abigail. And of course, everything is fine. The day ended up being  a success, didn’t it?”

“Why do you not like being called Abby? It suits you,” he said.

If it had been any other man, I would have assumed this was flirting but it was Sherlock. “I don’t know, I never liked it,” I replied. 

“Well, my apologies but I am going to call you Abby from now on,” Sherlock replied, taking a step towards me. “May I walk you back to your room, Abby?”

I blinked. Flirting? No, it couldn’t have been. “Sure,” I answered. 

He held his arm out for me to take as we walked towards my dorm. I felt suddenly nervous and got quiet. He was silent too but when I glanced over at him, he just gave me a smile as we made our way back to my building. 

“Well, here I am,” I said. “Thank you for walking me back, Sherlock.”

“Abby, it was my pleasure,” he said. “Would you care to have dinner with me?”

“Like... a date?” I asked. I was so confused. This man hated me just 12 hours ago. 

“That’s what people do, right?” he asked, looking equally confused. “When they want to spend time alone with someone that they like?”

“You... like me?” I mumbled. 

His eyes narrowed, “Of course. Don’t be silly.” 

“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you,” I replied finally. 

“Good,” he said. He took my right hand and lifted it up to his lips, kissing it like he had several times that day. “Goodnight, Abby.”

“Uhhh... goodnight Sherlock,” I replied, my voice squeaking awkwardly. 


	8. Day 8- Shopping

Day 8- Shopping

That Time Abby Lost Sherlock's Scarf

 

“Abby?!” Sherlock called out. “Where is my scarf?” 

Abigail bit her lip and peeked out from the kitchen. “Uh, I don’t know,” she lied. “With your coat?”

Sherlock looked at her with his coat in his hand and no scarf. “Obviously not,” he said. “What happened to it?” He watched as she diverted her eyes from away from his and shifted her stance. “Abigail?”

“Well, here’s the thing... I borrowed it the other day when you got home because I couldn’t find mine and yours was right there. You were sleeping and I needed to go to rehearsal,” she said. “And it kinda disappeared.”

Sherlock tilted his head, “Disappeared how?”

“I think someone stole it. Or it may have fallen off in the cab. I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock was unhappy so he thought up the worst punishment he could think of, “You’ll just have to come with me to go shopping to get a replacement.”

“Oh... just give me the address and I’ll go by myself,” she offered. “Please...”

“No, get your coat on, we’ll go right now,” he said. 

Abigail soon found herself in the cab on the way to the specific store that had his scarf. “I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly. 

“It’s only a scarf but there’s no reason to hide such things,” he said. “I’m a reasonable man.”

Abigail coughed, “Reasonable? Like the time I accidentally spilled marinara sauce on your favorite trousers? Were you reasonable then?” Sherlock gave her a look which made her smile. “You don’t scare me, Mr. Holmes,” she said with a wink. 

Sherlock grumbled, “Says the woman who didn’t tell me about my missing scarf.”

The shop where scarf could be found was posher than Abigail had anticipated. She had never witnessed Sherlock buy clothes so she didn’t know what to expect but the high-end store was a surprise. “Here?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. 

“I hope you don’t think I can pay for it,” she whispered as they walked towards the men’s department. 

“Aren’t you glad now that I just didn’t give you the address?” he snickered as they found the scarves. 

Abigail watched as he nitpicked through the scarves one by one. A sales lady approached and offered help. For the next 30 minutes, Sherlock had the entire men’s department scour the store and storage room for the proper scarf. All Abigail could do was hope that she never had to step foot into this place again. She was completely mortified. 

On the way home, Sherlock was quite pleased with himself. “I bought two replacements. No more borrowing,” he announced in the cab. 

Abigail rolled her eyes, “I won’t. Trust me when I say, I don’t want to go back there.” While she looked out the window, Sherlock moved next to her. 

“I got you one too,” he said quietly as he placed a scarf around her next. “There, that’s better.”


	9. Day 9- Hanging Out With Friends

Day 9- Hanging Out With Friends

 

Abigail, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson decided to do charity work together. The three women gathered a few times a month for a long afternoon of knitting and gossipping. The results of their knitting adventures would be hats, scarves and sometimes blankets donated to needy women and children through St. Bart’s clinic. 

Abigail always chose bright, rainbow yarn to knit. Her scarves and hats often had a whimsical look to them. Chunky, soft yarn was lovingly knitted by her quick, nimble fingers. When her aunt taught her, she picked it up quickly. The rhythmic counting and movements were much like playing an instrument. It became another form of therapy for those times she needed to focus less on worrying and more on staying calm. 

Mary was the practical one. Her projects were neutral colors that would compliment any style coat. She often made mistakes but Mrs. Hudson would swoop in to help correct it with a patient smile. 

Mrs. Hudson would knit anything with any sort of yarn given to her. If she noticed that the little boys needed more, she would knit more blue or black colored scarves. Mrs. Hudson thought that every gathering they had was special. 

The gossiping would naturally start after they got settled. Most of it was harmless and good natured. Other times, they would talk about what happened that week. Abigail usually had the best stories about what crazy things Sherlock would try to do in the house or things he would try to store in the refrigerator. 

By the beginning of December, they successfully made twenty sets of scarves and hats and five small baby blankets. They celebrated by dropping them off at the clinic and going shopping for more yarn.


	10. Day 10- Wearing Animal Ears

Day 10- Wearing Animal Ears

One of the quartet’s latest jobs was a benefit for an animal rescue. The rescue group thought it would be cute if each them wore dog ears or cat ears. Abigail didn’t think it was cute at all. 

It felt humiliating. Yes, it was charity and yes, in theory it would be ‘cute’ but she had hoped better for her career than wearing kitten ears and whiskers as she played Dvorak. She wouldn’t even tell Sherlock of this latest humiliation. The last thing she needed was for him to tease her about it. 

By the end of the evening, she headed home with the ears safely tucked into her coat pocket. Oblivious to the fact that her face had whiskers still painted on it (and a cute little pink nose), she wearily climbed up the stairs with her cello. 

Sherlock was composing when she walked in. She grumbled hello as she took off her coat hung it up. He didn’t stop playing until she walked by and he immediately noticed the whiskers on her face. 

“Was the benefit a success?” he asked, subduing a smile so she wouldn’t realize her mistake. 

“Yes, they were happy with us,” she muttered as she made some tea. 

“You sound unhappy. Why?”

“Just tired,” she lied. 

While she was preoccupied with making tea and getting a snack, he wandered over to her coat and proceeded to find the ears stuffed in a pocket. He walked back to his violin and put the ears on the music stand.

Abigail came in with tea and a few biscuits and plopped down into the chair. She looked up at him and tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” he replied. 

“About? No nevermind, I don’t want to know. Probably some decay rate of corpses in the rain.”

“I think you might want to know this time.”

“I definitely don’t then,” she retorted before taking a long sip of tea. 

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine, tell me.”

He took the animal ears in his hand, hiding them behind his back and walked over to. “Stand up,” he said. 

Abigail sighed, “Why can’t I just sit here while you tell me?”

“Because I have to show you,” he answered as he held his free hand out to her. 

Abigail took his hand and stood up, fulling expecting him to drag her to the microscope or make her look at his latest experiment. Instead, he put the ears on her head. 

“Oh god, no,” she said as she reached up to try to remove them. 

He smiled and stopped her from removing them. “You forgot to remove your whiskers. It is only right that you wear the ears with them, my little kitten.”

She lifted a hand and felt the makeup still on her face. “Oops and here I thought I could conceal the humiliation I had to endure this evening.”

Sherlock smiled, “I do not see humiliation. I see.... cuteness,” he said with a wink. “Now the real question is... what will make my little kitten purr?” he whispered against her ear.


	11. Day 11- Sick/Injured

Abigail rarely called Sherlock because texting was their primary form of communication. Phone calls were so unusual that when Sherlock looked at his mobile buzzing on the counter, he was surprised to see it was Abby calling him.

Lestrade’s eyebrow lifted. “Are you going to answer that?” he asked.

Sherlock looked down at the mobile phone  then back at the murder victim. “Yes... I guess I should,” he said. Everyone in the morgue watched as Sherlock walked away from them to answer the call.

“Yes... yes...ok, I will be right there in a few moments,” Sherlock said before the call ended.

John tilted his head, “Sherlock?”

“Abigail is downstairs. She was in a minor accident,” Sherlock announced as he walked back over to the corpse and continued to think through the case.

Lestrade huffed, “Well is she alright?”

John took a step, “Sherlock? The case can wait. You should go check on her.” John and Lestrade looked at each other.

“Seriously, Sherlock, the case can wait. You should go check on Abby,” Lestrade said.

Sherlock looked at the two of them. “Fine, fine. I will check on Abigail,” he said, emphasizing her name for Lestrade. “We’ll need the toxicology reports on this one before I can determine anything else,” he announced.

As Sherlock walked out of the morgue, John followed closely behind. “What happened?”

“Oh I think he accidentally overdosed,” Sherlock said.

“No... no... I mean Abigail,” John said, getting annoyed with Sherlock’s attitude.

“Cab accident,” Sherlock replied as they got into the lift.

“Oh God, she’s okay, right?”

“I assume so. The nurse didn’t get into it and didn’t sound agitated,” Sherlock said.

John felt anger start to rise. “Jesus, Sherlock! If a nurse called me saying Mary was in the hospital because of a cab accident, I’d be running like a madman.”

“John, are you implying I don’t love Abigail because I am not running like a madman?”

“I’m implying that you are taking your sweet time getting there and she probably would like you to be there to comfort her at the very least,” John replied.

After John finished that sentence, he definitely noticed Sherlock pick up his pace to get to Abigail. By the time, they reached the desk, Sherlock was high strung and worried.

“Abigail Hudson, where is she?” Sherlock demanded.

The nurse flinched at his tone. “Room 15... but they are still... excuse me, Sir! You can’t go back there unless you’re family,” she called to him as he ignored her warning and walked to the room.

Sherlock walked down to the room and opened the door. A doctor was carefully holding Abigail’s foot in his hand. Her ankle was visibly swollen, bruised, and had a few scratches. His eyes wandered up to her face. Abigail’s eyes were tightly shut; her cheeks were tear-stained.  He could see that she had endured a lot of pain “Abby?” he called to her.

The doctor stood up, “ I am Dr. Nichols. Are you family?” he asked.

Abigail finally looked up, “Sherlock?”

“If you could give me another minute to examine her,” the doctor said as he tried to usher Sherlock out, touching his shoulder.

Sherlock looked down at his hand, “Sir, you will continue to examine her while I remain by her side. It is obvious she is in a great deal of pain therefore I will not leave her.” He walked towards the head of the bed and took Abigail’s hand into his. “Proceed,” he commanded.

Dr. Nichols looked at the nurse and shrugged before he returned to Abigail’s ankle. Sherlock looked down at Abigail whose eyes were snapped shut again, her hand squeezing his tightly. He brushed some hair out of her face. She appeared to be unharmed besides the ankle which relieved him.

An hour later, with an ankle brace and pain medicine, Sherlock pushed Abigail in the wheelchair. He had pushed aside the orderly, telling him that under no circumstances would anyone push her except him. John stood up as they entered the waiting room. “Oh, is it broken?”

“No, just a bad sprain. The driver tried to leave without making sure she was completely out,” Sherlock grumbled. “I’m taking her home now. Tell Lestrade as soon as those reports come back to email them to me.”

“Right... if there’s anything I can do, call me,” John said as Sherlock and Abigail left.

Abigail started to doze off on the way home in the cab. Sherlock scooted closer to her so he could put his arm around her. He looked down at her relaxed face and let out a sigh of relief. As they approached Baker Street, he gently woke her up.

“You.. you don’t have to carry me,” Abigail fussed but there was no other way. The medicine was flowing through her blood, making her wobbly and confused.

As the cab stopped, he climbed out and patiently helped her stand before he took her into his arms and carried her up to the flat. By the time he opened the door to the flat, she was passed out in his arm. “Oh Abby,” he whispered, feeling overwhelmed with relief.

Abigail slept for over an hour. Sherlock sat on the bed with his laptop, next to her so she wouldn’t wake up alone and confused. Her eyes blinked open, looking up at him. “Hey,” she mumbled.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, his face searching hers for any signs of discomfort.

“No, my entire body is numb,” she said with a smile.

Sherlock laughed, “Yes, I’m sure it is. I made sure he prescribed the proper medicine.”

“I’m sure you did. Thank you for coming to me... I know you were on a case but I didn’t think my Aunt could manage getting me home,” she said.

“Don’t be silly. The moment they called, I left Lestrade standing in the morgue.”

“Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “Are you staying here?”

“I’m not moving until it is absolutely necessary,” Sherlock said. He reached over and pulled the blanket up to her shoulder. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”


	12. Day 12- Making Out

Day 12- Making Out

 

In the dark early morning hours, Sherlock and Abigail faced each other in bed. His long, slender index finger traced slow lines down from her shoulder to her hand. They lay together, basking in the afterglow of a lovemaking session.

Her finger caught his as it reached her hand. She pulled his hand into hers, holding it tightly then bringing it up to her mouth. Her lips kissed each of his knuckles.

Sherlock was the first to speak. “When was your first kiss? Describe it to me.”

Abigail smiled. Often, in the middle of the night, they found themselves talking about little details of their lives that the other didn’t know about. Sherlock wanted to know everything. “Well.... it was after my 8th grade holiday dance. Timothy Peterson somehow found enough courage to ask me to slow dance. I remember all of my friends giggling,” she said as she turned onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. “He was in the chess club... played trombone and had a ridiculous amount of freckles,” she said with a smile.

“We slow danced twice and he just walked away. I was confused...like maybe I had stepped on his foot a few times too many,” she laughed. “After the dance, a group of us went to the ice cream stand near school. I was sitting with my friends, eating a vanilla cone and Timmy walks up to me. Says he’s sorry for just walking away. Asks me to take a walk.”

“I follow him down to the marina. He turns to me and kisses my cheek then turns around,” she explained. “I turned around and kissed him right on the lips. He was stunned... so much so he dropped his ice cream cone, got embarrassed, and ran away again. He never talked to me again.”

They laughed together. Abigail leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “How about you? Tell me about it.”

“I was 17. I was tutoring a girl named Margaret Berry. Her brother, Ethan- the goalie of the football team, paid her twenty quid to flirt with me. She asked me if I had ever been kissed before. I said no. She kissed me, right there in the library. Ethan and most of the football team had been watching. They were quite pleased with themselves.”

Abigail frowned. Although she knew school had been difficult and there were kids that had bullied him for being different but he told her the extent of it. “I’m going to need her and her brother’s address,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I want to kill them both right now,” Abigail said.

Sherlock laughed. “Don’t worry. I had my revenge. Ethan got kicked off the team because I exposed a cheating scheme that he was participating in and I made sure Margaret failed biology.”

Abigail touched his cheek and kissed him again. Their foreheads pressed together. Sherlock didn’t like talking about school but he felt safe telling her secrets about his past. She never judged him.

“Abby... did you love Timothy Peterson?” he asked.

“God no,” Abigail said. “His freckles were cute and all but he was  too skittish.”

Sherlock smiled. “Good. I have a secret,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she whispered back.

“Yours was the first real kiss I had,” he confessed. “The first and only woman I have loved. I only count yours.”

“That night on the beach?” Abigail asked, remembering that moment laying in the sand and looking up at the sky.

“Yes... with the shooting stars,” he said; she could faintly see him smile in the dark. “When we kissed, I knew it was different. I knew you wanted me and it wasn’t just some sham or arrangement.”

Sherlock pushed her over on her back. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “I want you to think of that night. It was a full moon. I could see your lips glisten in the moonlight. You were asking me if I knew the constellations,” he said.

Abigail nodded silently. “You didn’t,” she said.

His hand lifted up and caressed her cheek, just as he did that night so long ago. “It was one of the few moments in my life that I was nervous,” he confessed. “I knew that you liked me... but still, I had doubt. Me! Doubt? A foreign emotion for me. But I had to,” he said. “I had to kiss you despite the doubt or the fear of you rejecting me.”

He paused so he could touch her lip with his fingertip. “I had to know... what it was like to kiss you,” he whispered. “To feel your beautiful lips on mine.”

Abigail opened her eyes just as he began to lean in and kiss her. His lips were just as shaky and hesitant as they were that first night. In his mind, he could see and remember each small detail- from the taste of her mouth and the exact moment in the kiss that she reached up and raked her fingers through his hair.

She moaned as he trembled. And just as she did so many years ago, she reached up to touch his hair, to play with the dark curls that she loved so much. As soon as she did, Sherlock moaned loudly.

They kissed longer than they did that night. Sherlock couldn’t stop. He just wanted to relive the moment over and over again.


	13. Day 13- Eating Ice Cream

 

**Your Love Is Better Than Ice Cream**

 

Late July brought a heatwave and during any sort of heatwave, Abigail craved two things- ice cream and the beach. Beaches weren’t the same in the UK though. The water was too frigid for her, never mind the trouble of dragging Sherlock there. So she settled for the next best thing.

Ice cream. And not just your ordinary soft-serve. Decadent authentic gelato that made Abigail’s toes curl with pleasure as soon as it hit her lips. Everyday for a week, she walked a few blocks to her favorite place and ordered a scoop or two. Sometimes she considered it her lunch or dinner. Other times, it was simply an indulgent snack.

Late afternoon, Sherlock found himself bored again. Abigail came out of the bedroom, wearing a pretty summer dress that showed off her silky legs. Her hair was pulled up and all he could think was how much he wanted her naked and in his bed.

  
“Where are you going?” he asked as she walked right by him towards the door.

 

“For a walk,” she said as she grabbed her purse.

 

“You’re going to get ice cream again, aren’t you?” he stated.

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she replied. “Do you want to come too?”

 

“Too busy.”

 

“Liar. Oh well, Antonio will keep me company. He’s been teaching me some Italian while I enjoy my ice cream.”

 

“Oh well, if Antonio will keep us company, I shall join you.”

  
Once there, the young, handsome Antonio was a bit surprised and visibly disappointed that Signorina Abigail showed up with her aloof boyfriend. “Bella Abigail... you have brought the elusive boyfriend with you today, yes?” he asked with a thick Italian accent.

“Yes, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Antonio,” she said but already her eyes were focused on the gelato case.

Sherlock politely nodded, noting the judgement Antonio was making. “What shall we get?” Sherlock asked, suddenly very interested in the gelato. He placed his hand on the small of her back as she leaned over to look at all of the options.

“Vaniglia... perhaps with some fragole,” she said. Antonio beamed with pride as the words rolled off of her tongue. Vanilla with strawberries.

Sherlock turned her head to look at her. “Lovely choice,” he said, his hand travelling down to her ass.

Abigail turned around, confused by the rare public display. “What do you want?”

“Hmmmm, I don’t know,” he said, trying to focus on the gelato that he didn’t really want. “Suggest something for me, beautiful.”

Abigail’s eyebrow raised up at the pet name. “Biscotto, you would enjoy that,” she said as she pointed out a rich chocolate gelato with crunchy biscuit pieces mixed in.

“Biscotto it is then,” Sherlock agreed, giving Antonio an obvious fake smile.

Abigail was staring at her cup of deliciousness and was getting very impatient. Sherlock looked back at her and smiled, the innocent happiness that was on her face made her glow. There was no question why Antonio was entranced by her, he thought.

Antonio handed Sherlock his and after they paid, Abigail quickly walked to a table and sat down. Sherlock sat across from her and watched as she lifted a spoonful up to her mouth. She slid the spoon slowly out, her eyes shut with pleasure. Her facial expression was very close to her orgasm expression, he realized.

He shifted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable at the thought of watching Abigail eat gelato had such an effect on him. Her eyes opened and focused on him as she licked a smidgen of vanilla gelato off of her top lip. “Why haven’t you tasted yours yet?” she asked.

“Oh, I was just about to,” Sherlock said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He promptly shoved a spoonful in his mouth, not really caring about the gelato but rather wanting to watch her eat the entire time. But.... the taste made him pause. A moan slipped as he realized just how delicious it was. “Oh.. now this is nice,” he said.

Satisfied that Sherlock was now enjoying his, Abigail started to eat again. This time, she picked up a whole strawberry and slipped it into her mouth. Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes off of her mouth. Every time her tongue peeked out to lick her lips clean, he shifted in his chair.

He couldn’t enjoy his own because of how focused his mind was on Abigail- the goosebumps on her arms as she, no doubt, took too many bites making her chilly, how her lips were getting pinker with every strawberry. Oh how she might taste right now, he thought. That thought alone made his frustration climb to a point of no return.

Thoughts of bending her over the table and taking her right in front of her Italian admirer took over his mind completely. Oh to lift up that flimsy dress and exposing the most perfect ass that he had ever laid eyes on, right there.

“Sherlock?” Abigail said. “Hello? Are you in your mind palace again?”

“What? No,” he said, frowning (mostly at his rock-hard erection).

“Do you want to start walking home?” she asked. “You’ve barely said two word to me this entire time.”  
  
“Well, you were enjoying your gelato,” he said with a smirk.

“We can walk,” she offered.

“No.. let’s sit here for a few minutes while I finish,” he said, stalling for time.

Abigail finished hers before Sherlock was done. He made the mistake of feeding her a few spoonfuls, watching that orgasmic face appear two more times.  It was torture, glorious torture, he thought to himself.

He finally calmed himself down enough so they could start the walk home. He fed her every once in awhile, just to see the pleasure wash over her face. She was reciting all of her new Italian words that she had learned over the past week. He politely nodded as she rambled on, just wanted to get her home and occupy those lips in other ways.

“Fare l’amore,” Sherlock added as he finally opened the door to the flat.

Abigail looked up at him, confused. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll show you,” he said as he took her hand and led her upstairs to their flat. “I think I will show you the many things it means this afternoon.”

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re going to make me look at those dead bugs again,” she said, suddenly worried.

“Hmmm, no. This is much more exciting,” he said, already hard for her again.

As soon as they were in the flat, Abigail kicked off her sandals and waited for whatever was so interesting.

Sherlock smirked as he approached her. “Fare l’amore means making love,” he whispered in her ear. “The entire time I watched you eat gelato, I witnessed how pleasurable it was for you. The light moans that are usually reserved for when I kiss your neck,” he said as he pressed his lips on her neck then licked down to the flimsy spaghetti strap that held up her dress. “The way your tongue darted out to lick your lips... exactly like the way you flick it against my lips after I have licked you to orgasm.”

He walked behind her and ran his finger down her neck, teasing it. He knew that her nipples were hard just from the kiss to her neck. Goosebumps began to emerge across her chest as he caressed her neck again. He pushed the strap down with his finger, letting it fall off of her shoulder.

He took a moment, planning exactly what he wanted to do. “But do you know what I really wanted to do?” he said against her shoulder.

“What?” she asked, sounding out of breath.

Sherlock took her hand and led her to the table, facing her towards it. He pressed up against her back so she could feel just how badly he need her. “I wanted to bend you over the table and fuck you right in front of your Italian admirer,” he said as his hands started to lift up her dress over her ass.

She gasped as soon as she realized that he was jealous of Antonio. “Jealous?” she asked.

Sherlock didn’t answer her as he started to slide her panties down to her feet, kissing the back of her legs as he did. “Does it excite you to think I am jealous?” he asked, knowing the very question would make her drip with excitement.

“Yes,” she squeaked out.

“The filthy way he was looking at you,” Sherlock growled and kissed the back of her knees. “I know exactly what he was thinking. It infuriated me. Do you know why?” he asked before kissing each of her ass cheeks.

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine,” Sherlock said, dipping his finger in between her folds, discovering just how wet she was. “Bend over,” he ordered.

Abigail’s hands planted down on the table and Sherlock didn’t waste any time unzipping his trousers and pulling out his aching cock. He slid the head between her lips, letting it get wet from her juices. He moaned as he finally found her entrance and pushed slowly into her.

Sherlock had set her on fire- his possessive ways were sexy to her. He started to thrust slowly until he could feel her buck back against him, encouraging him to be rougher with her. He obliged and began to fuck her exactly how they both needed, hard and fast. His hand reached around, pulled her dress down, exposing her breast so he could pinch her nipple as they moved together. Abigail would soon be screaming his name, he thought.

She orgasmed as soon as he dropped both of his hands to her hips and pulled her hard into him. He grunted as he felt himself let go and fill her. He held onto her until the throbbing subsided. His lips found hers as he turned her around for a proper kiss.

She smiled against him, “I hope you know I’m going to need a full  explanation of what fare l’amore means and I also think you need to come have ice cream with me more often.”  
  
Sherlock kissed her forehead, “I told you I would give you the full explanation and I also think I need to accompany you whenever you go for gelato from now on.”


	14. Day 14- Dancing

Abigail was used to coming home to the flat and finding it in various states of disarray. Sherlock didn’t have one ounce of tidiness in him when it came to keeping the house. One random Monday in November, she arrived at Baker Street after a shopping trip with Mary to find that all of the furniture in the living room had been pushed off to the side.

 

“What in the world?” she called out as she walked in, the room echoing with her footsteps.

 

“Good, you’ve come home,” Sherlock said as he walked out from the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow. He held out his hand to Abigail. “Come here.”

 

Abigail paused, trying to figure out just what he was up to. “What’s going on?” she asked before she took his hand.

 

Sherlock smiled, “I’m going to teach you something. Put the bag down and take my hand. Whilst John and I were in Argentina last week, I learned how to dance the tango. John tried but failed miserably so it was up to me to learn and help uncover a rather nasty case about a kidnapped dance competition judge.”

 

“You learned how to tango? Sherlock, you know I can’t dance well,” Abigail argued. “I mean.. this is all very nice but I’m going to step on your feet repeatedly.”

“Abby, indulge me. As I was taking lessons, all I could think of was teaching you,” he said, knowing that particular plea always worked with her. He pressed the little remote in his pocket to start the music. Sultry accordion and violin music filled the flat. He held out his hand to her and beckoned her towards him.

 

Abigail slowly crossed the room to him. He pulled her close in a tight embrace, his hand covering the small of her back. “It’s only a walk,” he whispered. “Slow… slow… quick.. quick…” he said as began to lead her. She stumbled.

 

“See? I can’t,” she complained.

 

“Shh… never on the first time, Abigail,” he said. “Again.”

 

They tried again and again. Abigail stumbled or miscounted each time. Sherlock didn’t get annoyed once; his surprising patience made her want to do better. Finally, Abigail performed the simple parallel walk perfectly several times. Sherlock smiled. “Now for more,” he said.

 

For the next hour, Sherlock patiently showed her the very basic steps and reminded her to stop thinking about her feet. By the end of it, she knew a very basic tango dance.

 

“Let’s do the entire thing without stopping,” he said.

 

“Uhh… ok,” she answered, still very unsure of herself.

 

His finger lifted up her chin so her eyes met his. “Let me lead, Abby. You must trust me,” he said quietly.

 

Abigail nodded. Sherlock restarted the song and counted down for her. She let herself go and allowed him to lead her in the slow, intimate dance. He whispered reminders occasionally but they were able to complete an entire song without stopping. The song ended. He was still holding her so he started again without the music this time.

“Again,” he whispered, enjoying himself so much.


	15. In another style of clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is out on a case and in an unusual disguise. Abby is shocked by it (and slightly turned on lol)

Spitalfields Traders Market was one of Abigail’s favorite places to visit in London. Mary had taken her during the summer and they spent hours wandering around the upcycled clothing and vintage jewelry stalls, munching on yummy food, and chatting the day away. 

Sherlock was out on a case again. He hadn’t been home for two days and Abigail thought it would be a wonderful treat for herself to go over to the market and enjoy some shopping. She called Mary but she was busy with her visiting mother. So, Abigail made her way to the market alone. 

The market wasn’t busy that morning. The damp, cold October air would keep people away until after lunch. This meant she could browse in peace through her favorite vendors. A few vendors even knew her by her name since she had often bought vintage jewelry for her Aunt or hand knitted jumpers for herself. 

She had underestimated the cold though and soon found herself walking into the closest coffee shop to get something hot to drink. It was crowded but she stood there in line, waiting while people ordered their complex morning coffees with soy milk and a variety of syrups. The majority of customers were artsy 20-somethings with flannel shirts and skinny jeans. Hipsters, she thought with a smile. Abigail adored the vibe of the community because artsy people reminded her so much of her college years and mid-twenties. 

She pulled out her cell phone to check for any new texts from Sherlock. Nothing. The line moved inched forward while she tapped the email button on her phone to check there as well. 

“Your largest coffee, black with two sugars,” a familiar voice ordered. 

Abigail blinked and looked up towards the counter to the man in front of her. The man sounded just like Sherlock except the man ordering was wearing tight jeans, converse sneakers, and a grey knit beanie cap. She shook her head, perhaps she was missing him a bit too much. 

She stepped forward as he moved to the side, not paying attention to his face and ordered her own drink. A few steps over and she was waiting with the others for her drink. The man was standing very close to her but she was too busy looking through her pictures to notice his blue eyes staring down at her. 

“Large coffee, black with sugar” the barista called out. The man stepped forward and Abigail knew hers would be next. 

“Excuse me,” she said as she moved in front of him. 

“Pardon me,” he said quietly. 

His voice caused her to look up again but he was turning around and all she caught was a stubbly chin. She shook her head as she grabbed her coffee on the counter. Definitely not Sherlock, she thought to herself. 

Her cell phone went off. 

(09:12) You see but you do not observe. -S

Abigail squinted at the text, not understanding why he would have sent it to her. 

(09:13) I believe you sent this to the wrong person but it is good to hear from you regardless. 

She put her phone away, completely expecting him to not text again but he did. 

(09:14) No, I meant to send it to you. I’m finishing a case. Meet me at that cafe you like near Spitalfield.15 minutes. -S

Abigail looked around. She knew he was there now. 

(09:14) Ok

Fifteen minutes later, Abigail sat in front of the cafe, sipping her coffee and trying to stay warm. Her eyes scanned the street for any sign of Sherlock but she didn’t have very much luck. 

“Pardon me,” he said. 

She looked up and saw his blue eyes staring down at her. “Oh my god,” she whispered. Her eyes darted all over him. He was the scruffy hipster from the coffee shop. “It was you...” she said, still looking at him in shock. The tight jeans... the black cardigan with a red flannel shirt under it... a black scarf... but the beanie, the beanie was the most shocking. “You... you are disguised as a hipster?” she choked out. 

Sherlock smiled, “Yes, a rather complex case involving vinyl records and a wanna-be cat burglar. It’s rather interesting...” he started to drone on about the case. 

Abigail was too busy looking at the scruff, the casualness of his dress and how unlike himself he looked. She found it shocking yet slightly attractive. “Uhh.. sounds like fun,” she muttered, trying to keep him talking.   
He stopped talking and noticed her looking down at his converse and his legs. “Is there a problem?” he asked. “You are looking at me strangely.”

Abigail coughed, “Uh, no... it’s just... it’s pretty shocking. I mean... you look like you but you don’t”

“Is that not the purpose of disguises?” he asked. 

“Did you have this hiding in your closet somewhere?” she asked, touching the cardigan with her fingertips. 

“No, I purchased it yesterday when I realized I would have to infiltrate the record store,” he said. “Why?”

“I was just wondering,” she said. “Do you feel odd walking around like this or is it comfortable?”

“Abigail, I hope you are not suggesting I wear clothes like these on a regular basis. It was simply for a case,” he said. 

“Right. You’re right. I’m just in shock,” she said, finally smiling at him. “So you’re done the case?”

Sherlock sighed, “Yes. It’s done.”

“Sherlock?” Abigail asked. “Would it be wrong if I asked for a kiss?”

Sherlock scrunched up his face, confused. “Why would it be wrong? Ohhhh, you think I will be offended since I am in disguise?”

“Well, yes? I didn’t want you to think...”

He took a step closer to her, so that their bodies touched. “It’s oddly touching that you would consider me handsome even though I am wearing this ridiculous outfit,” he whispered. His finger lifted up her chin. “Just what about it has you so intrigued? Do you think I will recite poetry to you while we listen to some music on vinyl?”

“Ummm.. no...” she said. “We can skip the poetry and stuff... I just... the scruff,” she whispered, her eyes looking at his chin and lips again. 

He moved in quickly and kissed her, moving his face enough so she would truly feel the two-day old beard against her face. She nipped at his bottom lip. “We need... we need to go home right now... you can shave later,” she whispered and he immediately knew what she had in mind.


	16. In Formal Attire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and Sherlock get dressed up for Mike Stamford's wedding.

Abigail’s POV

Mary informed me that one must wear a fascinator to a wedding such as Mike Stamford’s. I honestly had no idea that Mike cared about such things but Mary made it clear that if I didn’t wear one, I would more than likely stand out.

 

Obediently, I bought one with a small bundle of peacock feathers fastened by a pearl and a diamond broach. Wisps of black organza finished the look. I was in love. It would go just perfectly with the navy blue dress I picked out.

 

Mary also told me about how Mike was marrying into money and that the wedding was going to be gorgeous. I just shrugged and said it would just be nice to have an evening out with Sherlock. Not that he was excited about it.

 

So late afternoon, the day of the wedding, I came home from the salon. My hair was in an elaborate updo with curls pinned up in a low twist. Sherlock looked up from the couch, still in his dressing gown and pj’s, and mumbled, “Finally.”

 

“Finally what?” I asked. “Why aren’t you showered? We have to leave in an hour.”

 

“I don’t want to wear a tie,” he informed me.

 

“The invitation clearly states that it is black tie,” I reminded him. “Just put on the suit.” I didn’t give him the chance to argue any longer. I walked back into the bedroom so I could get dressed.

 

Within a few minutes, I heard the shower running. I got dressed and touched up my makeup. It took me a few tries to put the fascinator on just so but by the time Sherlock was out of the shower and standing in the doorway, I was completely ready and quite pleased with how I looked.

 

I glanced over at him, fully expecting him to be moping about the suit again but instead, noticed how he was looking at me.

 

“Abby,” he said quietly then crossed the room with only his towel on. “You look lovely.”

 

His sincerity was so clear that it made my heart beat faster. The man could still make me blush. “I’m… thank you,” I stumbled. “Get dressed and we’ll go.”

 

He was ready in twenty minutes. My aunt had come upstairs and was asking me all sorts of questions about the wedding. We both looked up when he came into the room. “Sherlock! I haven’t seen you this formal in a very long time,” my aunt proclaimed. “We must get a picture of you two,” she said.

 

He handed her his mobile and after two attempts, she finally had a nice picture of the two of us standing together.

 

“You didn’t even argue about taking a picture,” I said in the cab. “Why?”

 

Sherlock smiled over at me, “Sometimes even I can be sentimental, especially when it comes to you, Abigail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few chapters will be about Mike Stamford's wedding :)


	17. Going to a Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and Sherlock go to Mike's wedding and reception. Sherlock messes stuff up as usual :)

After the ceremony, the guests made their way to the reception. Abigail and Mary walked together arm in arm, chatting away as the men walked just behind them.

 

“Abigail looks beautiful tonight. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile so much in a long time,” John said. “I think your weekend away did some good.”

 

Sherlock nodded as he watched her giggle with Mary, “Yes, I suppose it did.”

 

“You didn’t stay at the couple’s retreat, right?” John asked because Sherlock had kept him in the dark about the entire scenario.

 

“No, we stayed,” Sherlock answered.

 

John’s eyes squinted, “You did? You can’t be serious?” He started to chuckle loudly, making Abigail and Mary stop.

 

“What’s so funny?” Mary asked.

 

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Something about a case.”

John tried to compose himself. The idea of Sherlock at a couple’s retreat had to be the most humorous thing he had heard in months. “Oh look, here we are,” he said. “I can see the bride’s father spared no expense.”

 

“Thirty-five year old woman who was still living with her parents and has four cats. I’d say they were desperate,” Sherlock said.

 

Abigail widened her eyes, “Sherlock. Behave.” She looked away, the dig hit a little too close to home seeing that she was almost 32 and not married yet either.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

 

A harpist played in the middle of the dance floor, the sounds of “Ode to Joy” filling the room. The ballroom was softly lit by candelabras on the tables and the chandeliers. Mary kissed John on the cheek, “Oh goodness. How beautiful. Reminds me of our wedding.”

 

Abigail sighed out of frustration as they walked to their table. Sherlock took note of how Abigail reacted to the reception. He did not even want to approach this subject with her and now it was thrown in their face. He had never been so grateful as a colleague of Mike Stamford’s approached him about taking a case.

 

Dinner was perfect. They recreated the dinner of their first date- a seafood pasta dish or steak, potato mash, and yorkshire puddings. There were two other couples at their table- Greg Lestrade and his new girlfriend and Molly Hopper with a male friend she brought along.

 

Mike and his bride, Ellie, looked happy and pleased with the reception. “She looks radiant,” Abigail whispered to Mary. “I mean… that dress is stunning,” she added.

 

Sherlock and John listened to the ladies chat. John playfully poked Sherlock, waggling his eyebrows at his best friend. “Soooo… maybe you are next,” he teased. “Get your own ball and chain.”

 

Sherlock huffed. “No.”

 

The band started to play and drinks started to flow. The quiet, romantic reception transformed into a fun party. Everyone at their table headed to the dance floor, leaving Sherlock and Abigail alone. “I know this isn’t your thing but you have to admit it’s beautiful,” Abigail said, her fingers touching the petals of an orchid in their centerpiece.

“You’re right. It’s not my thing,” Sherlock stated. “But based solely on the visuals, it is, as you say, beautiful.”

 

Abigail shook her head. “I guess you would like to leave soon.”

 

Sherlock paused. Greg approached the table and smiled at Abigail, “Susan went to the ladies’ room. I noticed you haven’t danced all evening, would you care to ?” he said, giving Sherlock a wink.

 

Abigail hesitated for a split-second but took his hand, “I’d love to, Greg. It will be just like the gala a few months ago.”

 

“Um, let’s hope Sherlock doesn’t overreact this time, alright?” he joked as they walked out to the dancefloor.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes but then closely watched as Greg took Abby into his arms and slowly sway together to “Ain’t No Sunshine”. Susan, Greg’s date appeared soon after and looked at Greg and Abigail dancing.

 

“Don’t,” Sherlock said, noting the jealousy on Susan’s face.

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Don’t be jealous,” Sherlock announced as he stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “Come along.”

 

Susan frowned, “I am not jealous.”

“You are. Now follow me,” Sherlock said.

 

Confused, Susan followed him onto the dancefloor, fully expecting to dance with Sherlock. Instead Sherlock marched up to Abigail and Greg. “Here,” he said putting Susan’s hand into Greg’s. “Abigail,” he said.

 

Abigail shook her head. “Sherlock,” she said as she followed him off the dancefloor. “That was… really mean.”

 

Sherlock turned around. “Susan was jealous. I fixed it.”

 

“Now Abigail is pissed off and you won’t be able to fix it,” she announced. She looked around and noticed John giving them a worried glance. She shut her mouth and started to walk away from Sherlock.

 

“What is it about Lestrade dancing with Abby that makes you get her to storm off?” John joked, recalling the last time Lestrade danced with Abigail and it had ended just as badly.

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t know. His date was jealous. I removed Abigail from the situation.”

 

“You didn’t offer to cut in and dance with Abigail?” John asked, pointing out the flaw in Sherlock’s plan.

 

“No.”

 

“Good luck with that,” John said before returning to Mary.


	18. Day 18- Arguing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Abigail have a bit of a squabble at the reception.

Abigail marched straight into the ladies’ room. She looked into the mirror, adjusting some stray curls that had fallen out of the hairpins. God, he was so infuriating sometimes, she thought to herself as she washed her hands to stall for time.

 

Sherlock just outside of the door, waiting with some of the other men who were holding purses or coats. His eyes stayed on the door, trying to telepathically tell Abigail to get out there. Of course, she would take her time just to irritate him, he thought.

 

“Jesus, you would think it was her wedding,” the man next said to him, trying to complain about his wife who was taking entirely too long. The middle-aged man was leaning against the wall next to Sherlock.

 

“Excuse me?” Sherlock said, annoyed with the attempt at banter. He looked him over. Balding, late 40s, unhappily married, pharmacist, drinker

 

“My wife… she got all worked up about coming to the wedding. Hair done, makeup… new dress,” he rambled on. “They take these things so fucking seriously. Then I drink too much or don’t dance enough… or I’m not as romantic as the guy next to me. Next thing you know, she’s in the loo, having a tantrum.”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You obviously have had too many bourbons tonight and you’ve never been romantic. Your position at the hospital as a pharmacist keeps you from coming home at a decent hour. She’s bored and lonely, no doubt. And I am pretty certain she thinks you are cheating on her which,” he paused to search the man’s eyes, “is true.”

 

The man gasped; his face turned a bright, angry shade of red. “You better watch yourself,” he snarled. “There’s no reason to be fucking announcing that.”

 

Abigail heard a sniffle then a little sob come from the stall behind her. She listened and then heard the distinct sound of a woman crying. “Are you ok?” Abigail said as she knocked on the door. The door slowly opened, revealing an older woman with mascara running down her face. “What’s wrong?”

 

“He’s…. he’s cheating on me,” she cried.

 

“What? What a prick,” Abigail said as she hugged the stranger. “What a prick.”

 

The woman laughed just a little against Abigail’s shoulder. “He is. I should be glad he’s given me a good reason to kick him out. Still hurts though. I’ll be ok.”

 

“Are you sure?” Abigail asked, feeling sad for the woman.

 

“Quite sure,” the woman replied with no further explanation. “He’s standing out there right now. He doesn’t know I know yet though.”

Abigail glanced to the door, “Mine’s standing out there too.”

 

“Oh dear, argument?” the woman asked.

 

“He’s being his typical idiotic self,” Abigail explained.

 

“They are all dicks,” the woman said. “I’m positive. Now, I’m going to wipe this bloody mascara off and march out there. On the cab home, he’s going to be informed that he’s no longer needed. You dear, kick some ass too.”

 

Abigail smiled as she watched the woman walk out of the door. Sherlock’s eyes peered into the restroom, catching Abigail’s eyes. “Abby!” he called out before the door began to shut slowly again.

 

Abigail turned to the mirror and took a deep breath. “No scenes at the reception, Abigail,” she said. “No scenes.”

 

She opened the door finally and Sherlock took a step towards her. “Explain to me what I have done,” he said, not caring about how loud he was being. A couple passing by turned to stare of them. Abigail looked over at them and pulled him closer.

 

She didn’t reply at first. “I’m sorry for storming off,” she said. “I get mad and sometimes, that’s the only way I can deal with it.”

 

Sherlock pulled back in confusion. Her apology was the last thing he had expected.

 

“You owe me a slow dance. Maybe two,” she said bluntly. “If you do that then I will forgive you for acting the way you did.”

 

Sherlock stared at her, debating whether to ask why he had to make anything up to her since he didn’t think he did anything wrong. 

 

He was taking too long to respond, thought Abigail. Too long. “Look, I’m giving you a compromise,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”

 

“Fine,” he muttered. “We can dance.”


	19. Day 19- Making Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail comes up with a solution to their reception squabble. Sherlock complies.

Sherlock took Abigail’s hand and practically bolted to the dance floor just so he could get this over with. John watched as Sherlock stopped and pulled Abigail into his arms. Mary nudged John and giggled a little.

 

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he joked quietly. “Three Times A Lady? Who knew?”

 

Lionel Ritchie’s smooth voice filled the room as other couples danced.

 

You’re once, twice, three times a lady

and I love you

Yes, you’re once, twice, three times a lady

and I love youuuuu

 

Sherlock’s posture was stiff and uncomfortable. “You know.. we’re just dancing,” Abigail said. “You look like you’re dying a slow painful death.”

 

“Because I am, look… Lestrade is taking a picture of us right now,” Sherlock said.

 

Abigail looked up and gave Greg a big smile before he took a picture. “Smile,” she said through her gritted teeth.

 

Sherlock smiled just so Greg could take a quick picture. Abigail looked up at Sherlock; his face still sullen and annoyed. “I know… holding me in public is just so horrible,” she muttered.

 

He looked down; his eyes softening as he did. “No, it’s not,” he whispered and pulled her closer. “I’m sorry, Abby,” he said.

 

Abigail pressed her head against his chest, moaning softly as she felt so loved in that moment. “I forgive you,” she whispered back.

 

The song ended and the DJ started “You Are The Sunshine of My Life”. The slightly more upbeat tempo forced Sherlock to dance quicker with Abigail. She started to laugh as he twirled her around once the pulled her back against him.

 

You are the sunshine of my life

That’s why I’ll always stay around

You are the apple of my eye,

Forever you’ll stay in my heart

 

John and Mary just sat at the table, watching the odd couple on the dance floor. “I swear he just smiled,” Mary whispered. “And he twirled her again. I wish we could have recorded this.”

 

“Shh, no,” John said. “Would have scared him off and Abigail would have missed out.”

 

The song ended and Sherlock leaned down to kiss Abigail on the cheek, “Reminded me of that one evening on the patio in Florida,” he whispered. “Do you remember?”

 

Abigail blushed, “Yes… yes, I remember.”

 

“Well you two looked nice dancing together,” John commented as they returned to the table and noticed how Abigail was blushing.

 

“He owed me a few,” Abigail said with a wink.


	20. Day 20- On one of their birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Abigail's birthday 10 years ago when they first met. Gives you more of an insight of what happened in the beginning of their relationship. Check out my first Abigail/Sherlock fic "The Case of the Cellist in 221C"

Key West

Late June, 10 years ago

 

Sherlock Holmes hated Key West more than any other place on earth. The heat and humidity made life uncomfortable all day. The tourists were obnoxiously loud and rude. Even the brightly painted buildings rubbed him the wrong way. He wanted the case solved immediately but there was one problem. Miss Abigail Hudson.

 

Sherlock was unprepared for her. She wasn’t supposed to be there. He needed to get into that house- specifically into her father’s office and look for a secret safe that the feds had missed. So he concocted a plan to follow her for a few days so he could break into the house without her knowledge. Her house was situated on a private cul-de-sac of the island. Only his rental house could provide any views into the house.

 

A funny thing happens when you watch someone so closely all hours of the day, you start to really get to know them. Little intimate details like always two coffees in the morning with cream. Evening walks on the beach just in front of her house and always picking up random shells to toss into a large glass vase that sat in the foyer of her grand childhood home.

 

She was lonely, he thought. Even when her rowdy friends came by, she was the reserved one of the group and always quietly observing the others do their thing. Her friends, he thought, weren’t really friends. They were acquaintances, only there to enjoy the pool and the fact she lived 10 steps off of the beach.

 

Days passed by. He would follow her while she rode a bike into town so she could get groceries from Mrs. Cooper’s store. Cream, 3 packs of Reese’s peanut butter cups, a couple of oranges and frozen dinners. Then he would follow her back, watching her navigate the roads on her pink bike with a wicker basket full of groceries.

 

He listened to her play cello for hours. In the cool evening air, she would open the sliding glass doors and play in the sitting room just off of the kitchen. She was meticulously learning new pieces for her next year in university.

 

The day before Abigail’s birthday, he watched from his patio as she strolled out by her pool in a shocking little two-piece for someone he considered so reserved. His eyes looked away out of shame that he was even watching her and then back just in time as she laid on her stomach and untied the top of her bikini.

 

His chair was hidden just from her view and he shifted in it, uncomfortable with how his body was reacting. “Get some control, Holmes,” he muttered to himself, willing the feelings of desire to go away but they didn’t budge.

 

Twenty minutes went by. He continued to read his book, “The Biology of Decomposition” until his eyes caught movement. He looked up just in time for Abigail to dive into the pool, topless.

 

At this point, Sherlock was angry at himself, especially at the erection that would not go away. He wanted desperately to get up and walk back into the house but watching her do laps in the pool was just too enchanting. Perfect stroke, he said to himself. Thirty agonizing minutes went by.

 

Abigail got out of the pool and towel herself off, without concern to modesty. She headed to the door but before going in, she removed the bottom of her bathing suit, hanging both pieces on a hook by the sliding glass doors. Sherlock groaned as he watched her walk through the house and up the staircase to her bedroom.

 

A sense of urgency went through him. He needed to get this case done right now. Abigail was a distraction, a very beautiful distraction but he could not allow it to happen. He needed to get off of the bloody island and get away from her. But first he needed to go inside and release the pent up desire.

 

The next day, her friends showed up with balloons and a silly tiara. Abigail was turning 21. They all had a toast on the beach, a shot of tequila each. He watched as she coughed and scrunched up her face as the tequila burned her throat. “Come on, we’re going to three bars tonight!” a friend yelled.

 

When they left, he made his move. The house was empty and she wouldn’t be back for several hours. Breaking in was the simple part. He went directly to the room he knew was her father’s office. He looked around at the room, it was obvious that the feds had taken everything they could. Laptops, phones, filing cabinets were all removed from the room.

 

He scoured the room. For an hour, he searched the obvious places but then got creative by checking floorboards and the moulding on the walls. Nothing.

 

Frustrated, he started to search the entire house, including Abigail’s bedroom. He walked in the pink room and found the scent of her so intoxicating, he had to shake his head and refocus his efforts. He walked down the hall to her parent’s bedroom but the door was locked. He had to pick the lock. When he walked in, he immediately noticed the medical equipment that was still there from her mother. Even he could recognize just how sad the situation was.

 

Another hour went by and he never found what he was looking for. He needed more information and the easiest way of getting it was from Abigail herself. The house was left exactly as he found it.

 

It didn’t take long for him to find the birthday girl. She was at a beachside bar named Stingray’s. Bob Marley music played loudly and he watched as a college-aged boy walked up to her and asked her to dance. Her friends physically pushed her to the boy, making him catch her in his arms. Sherlock groaned as he watched this wanker try to grope her as they danced. She got mad and pushed him off of her.

 

The friends decided to ply her with more alcohol since their original plan didn’t work. It was obvious to him, they were attempting to get Abigail to hook up with someone. He did not like this at all.

 

Finally the friends left her at the bar where she sat on a stool, watching over them as they danced and grinded up against random men on the dance floor.

 

Sherlock sat down next to her but she was too busy watching to notice.

 

“Your friends are pissed,” he said, trying to sound good-natured about it.

 

“Excellent deduction, sir,” Abigail replied. The choice of words and the sound of her sarcasm making him smile. She turned to look at him, her large, brown eyes meeting his. It felt like minutes went by. The connection was palpable and the chemistry was undeniable.

 

“I thought so,” he replied, feeling the need to impress her further. She wanted deductions; she would have them.

 

“It’s also your birthday.. 21st, I believe,” he said. “You’ve had various cocktails and strangers thrown at you and yet, here you are sitting at the bar, observing your friends instead of joining them. You’re a local but back from university for the summer. You play a stringed instrument- cello, I believe. Probably majoring music.”

 

Abigail bit her lips which drew Sherlock’s eyes down to her mouth. “How did you….I mean.. it’s obvious that it’s my birthday,” she said nervously. “The tiara, of course,” she added, pointing to the silly tiara that sat on her head. “The cello though… how did you know?”

 

Sherlock reached over and took her hands into his. He was surprised that she didn’t pull away though. “Callouses,” he said. “Here… and here,” he said, pointing out the callouses on her hands from holding the bow. “Cello was a guess.. but a good one, seeing that you have a bass clef tattooed on your calf, just above your ankle. Bass or cello… I chose cello,” he said.

 

Abigail’s cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink he had ever seen. “That’s.. that was really neat. You’re very observant,” she said, tripping over the words just a little.

 

Sherlock smiled and held his hand out, “Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes,” he said, introducing himself.

 

He caught her glancing at his lips then his eyes. She showed signs of thinking he was attractive which was new to him. It didn’t happen very often.

 

“Abigail Hudson,” she finally responded before she realized she was still holding his hand. She pulled it away and looked back up at him. “I like your name,” she said. “My dad is from London originally, I’m assuming you are as well?”

 

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied, letting a bit of annoyance slip through until he saw her smile fade just so. “But that was a fine deduction,” he added quickly, just to make her smile return. “Can you deduce anything else from me?”

 

Abigail giggled which made his smile return. “Oh, I don’t think I could.”

 

“Try,” he encouraged her. “Please.”

 

Abigail got quite serious about it as her eyes roamed his entire body. “Well, I can tell you normally never wear boardshirts or t shirts from the lack of tan lines. You know music well enough.. wait,” she said, pausing to pick up his hand and inspected it closely. “You play a stringed instrument as well. You come from money.. I can tell from your watch.”

 

“Very good,” he said, surprised she had figured so much out. “Violin, by the way. Good call on the watch. Abigail, you are better at this than most.”

 

“Is this how you pickup girls?” she asked.

 

Sherlock’s jaw dropped, “God no. Of course not. In general, people don’t really look at what’s right in front of them. They don’t see details,” he said.

 

He watched as her eyes looked at his lips then up to his dark hair then back to his lips. Sherlock shifted in the chair which made her realize she was staring at him. She immediately looked away in embarrassment.

 

“It’s ok,” Sherlock said, not wanting her to be embarrassed. “I knew that saying that would make you really look at me.”

 

She shook her head, too mortified to even look at him again. “So you won’t look at me ever again because you are embarrassed?” he said, making her giggle.

 

“That obvious?” she asked, finally looking at him again.

 

“I think a blind person could see the heat radiating off of your cheeks,” he laughed. “I’m only teasing you, Abby.”

 

She looked at him, surprised to hear him use that name. “No one calls me Abby,” she corrected him.

 

“Well, I want to,” Sherlock said, “and I think you like it.”

 

“No,” she said, getting stubborn about it.

 

“Liar,” he said, grinning like a madman. The bantering was so easy and sexy to him. He wanted to freeze time just then. He considered asking her to go somewhere less noisy so they could talk more.

 

The obnoxious friends interrupted them at that moment. Patty sat down next to Abigail and nudged her, “He’s cute,” she said. “We should… leave you two alone,” she added, waggling her eyebrows at Abigail.

 

Abigail was about to say something but Sherlock stood up. “No… no need for you to go. I don’t want to interrupt,” he said. “Please go celebrate, Abby.”

 

“But…” Abigail said and he could see the disappointment in her face. She liked him, he thought.

 

He leaned in and brushed his lips against her soft skin. “Happy birthday, Abby,” he whispered. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

 

Sherlock walked away; his emotions playing havoc on his heart rate. He had just kissed her and she didn’t pull away, she had looked at him like she wanted more. And he knew he wanted more too.


End file.
